


La nuit, tous les chats sont gris

by giallarhorn



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giallarhorn/pseuds/giallarhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter never intended for all of this. This was the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La nuit, tous les chats sont gris

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to how despite their apparent differences, both versions of Walter are willing to do whatever it takes regardless of the morality of their actions when it comes down to it.

            Walter never intended for all of this. This was the truth.

            Sacrifices had to be made, however. That is the nature of war.

            He knows to expect casualties in their work- to think otherwise would be naive and the crumbling world around him would not afford him that luxury. But he could not have known that the enemy they face is so insidious that they would turn Colonel Broyles against his world.

            A reminder to never underestimate their adversary.

 

 

            The search for a replacement is a bureaucratic nightmare.

            Broyles had held the position since the initial creation of Fringe Division, and there had never been any question of him leaving his post. The exact nature of his death would not be made public- the story they have prepared is that he had died in action, trying to close a breach that had opened up near Harvard. The general public will be informed in half a week’s time, to coincide with the funeral services.

            It may have been that Broyles had betrayed his country, his universe, but Walter will not risk the faith of the people in their government.

 

 

            Of course, there are potential candidates for the position. Agents Lee and Francis are both senior agents in the field and aware of the exact nature of the struggle and thus ideal candidates- the former has seniority on Agent Lee, but Walter would not put a man whose death he ordered leading Fringe Division.

 

 

            The funeral is held in what remains of Central Park, against the brown grass and drab trees that have not borne leaves since the outbreak. It is a cold and windy day- the sun shines but provides little warmth.

            The coffin is empty, of course. What little pieces that were left behind had been incinerated.

Broyles’ wife and son are there, as well as the entirety of the Fringe Division of New York- the man had been a foundation to the department.

Walter is the one to deliver the eulogy, and the words feel heavy on his chest.

 

 

            Walter waits till the crowds depart to visit the tombstone marking an empty grave, ground freshly turned.

            “Do you remember what I told you, Phillip?”

 

 

 

 

            Walter stares at the amber colored solid. _Amber 31422_ , he called it. A catalytic compound and a hardening agent released in tandem as a gas, they would react to the nitrogen in the atmosphere to solidify into a crystalline solid. More remarkably, the lattice structure of the crystals could be influenced by the electrostatic fields of other crystals in close proximity to encourage a rigidity that would not be normally accomplishable.

            Once, this would have been a testament to the ingenuity of science and chemical engineering, the product of the world’s brightest minds working in tandem.

Now, it would be nothing but a potential solution to the breaches that had been destroying their world.

            The compound is not a perfect solution- initial tests had shown that in order to allow the compound to maintain enough integrity, it would have to be applied moments before or after the convergence of the singularity.

            And now, he is tasked with the decision to condemn an entire city or risk their world.

            “Sir.” Major Phillip Broyles sits across the table from him, ill fitted in his suit. “We don’t have much time.”

            _Six hundred thousand_. That had been the estimated number of casualties, even with the evacuation in place. There simply is not enough time before the breach widened enough that the amber would not contain it. Six hundred thousand souls condemned to death, snuffed out and trapped in amber. “Phillip, tell me something.”

            “Sir, if we don’t initiate the protocol then we’re looking at losing the entire state of-”

            “I am fully aware of the consequences should we not, Phillip.” Walter sighs. The abduction and the war had aged him over the years. “Are you ready, Phillip?”

            “Sir?”

            Phillip is a military man, a solider, a man used to following orders and accepting the consequences. “Are you prepared?”

            “I am a solider, sir.” Phillip folds his hands and hesitates. “When I put on my uniform, I was prepared for this. I put this uniform on to protect my family, my government and my world no matter the costs.”

            “Yes,” A solider has luxuries that he does not. A solider is taught to follow orders, to carry out those orders and to kill. It is the leader who gives the order, who sets the precedent. “Remember the people we are killing, and do not ever forget them. Because they will not forget us, even if we have forgotten them. Do not forget those who die, Phillip.”

 

 

 

            “You told me once that you pitied me, Phillip, for shouldering the burden of all those decisions. I don’t deserve pity, Phillip. Not anymore. But these are the monsters that we are fighting against.”

            Walter lays down a single, white tulip on the grave. “Goodbye, old friend.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Walter remembers things, despite what Peter thinks. Boy worried too much about him. Peter’s always thinking that he can’t remember anything, but it’s less of remembering and more of trying to remember what’s important and what isn’t. There’s too many reminders around him and Olivia is running in with a new distraction and things are just so _fascinating_.

           

 

            There are things that Walter doesn’t let himself forget, though. Things he won’t ever let himself forget because if he forgot them, then it’d have made all of his efforts for naught.

            These are- Peter’s birthday, the day that he came home from the lab and found Elizabeth dead in their kitchen, the feeling of how it felt to lose Peter and to find him again, Belly’s wonderful way of finding inspiration, and his crime against God.

 

 

            Astrid ( _Asterisk, today is Wednesday so her name is Asterisk today_ ) delivers Walter his mail. She seems long suffering when he calls her Asterisk, but he had already tried explaining it to her why he couldn’t call her by her name every day of the week. How else would he know what day it is?

            Peter walks in with a box of cookies. It reminds him of that vile, horrible woman who had replaced Olivia and that he must be more alert in the future, for there is no telling how devious his counterpart is and he should work on deciphering the design of the shap-

            The phone rings, and he remembers that today is something important. Asterisk answers, and tells him that it is Nina on the phone. That’s strange, because Nina Sharp never calls him unless it’s something about Belly. What on earth would she want to talk about?

            And then Walter remembers what day it is, and he nods and sets down the bowl of cookie dough.

            Today is William Bell’s funeral.

           

 

            Nina is the only other who shows to the funeral. Walter’s a little surprised, but he supposes that he shouldn’t be. Belly had been away from this universe for a long time and before then, he had been something of a recluse.

            She doesn’t offer any platitudes or tokens of grief, but he can tell behind her iron exterior and robotic arm she’s weeping. The arm reminds him of the night on Reiden Lake, when he had broken the universe apart to save a boy.

            The night that he had stolen another man’s son and ignited a war.

            Walter never told Nina, but that’s why he can rarely stand her company. She reminds him too much of who he had been, of what he had done. Of what it was like to try to play God.

            Nina leaves him at the grave, sensing that he wants privacy. There is no body to bury- Belly had been converted to energy. A natural process, but accelerated far beyond its natural course. That energy wasn’t even in this version of reality.

            “You were right, Belly. I was ignorant. Arrogant, even, to think that I knew best. But you were always telling me how we must finish the things that we start.” Walter wipes away a tear from his face.  “And I have started this war, no matter how well intentioned I was in saving my son. What I had done then was an act against God and- and. And I must not forget that I must finish it.”

            He lays down a single, white tulip on the grave. “Goodbye, Belly.”

            Walter had never intended for this. It was his burden to bear, and he would see it through to the conclusion.


End file.
